


Codename: Irresistable

by Dracothelizard



Category: Spy (2011)
Genre: Crack, Everyone wants to climb Tim like a tree, M/M, Pheromones, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: Unprompted fic for the HHanon meme written back in 2011.The Examiner sprays Tim with a pheromone spray that makes him irresistable to anyone not related to him. Hijinx ensue.





	Codename: Irresistable

It’s about fifteen minutes before he has to leave for _another_ session that will no doubt end with everyone calling him an idiot and Paula refusing to listen to him, that the Examiner calls him in his office.  
  
“Ah, Tim! Excellent.” The man grins at him, and Tim takes a step back.  
  
“I need to go soon,” he says, when the Examiner gets up, brandishing what looks like a deodorant bottle. “Er?”   
  
But it’s too late, and the other man has already sprayed him in the face with it.   
  
Tim coughs and splutters, and wipes at his face. “What was that for?”   
  
The Examiner just grins. “Bad breath, Tim. We can’t have our agents go into the world suffering from halitosis.”  
  
Tim stares at him for a moment. He hasn’t had complaints, but… “Can I go now?”  
  
“Yes, yes, please,” the man says, still grinning. “Please report back tomorrow about your experiences with the… anti-halitosis spray.”   
  
“I will,” Tim replies, backing away.  
  
*  
  
He grabs his things, Caitlin smiling at him over her computer monitor. “Social worker again?” she asks.  
  
“Yes,” he replies, and heaves a sigh. “I just. She’s completely unqualified.”   
  
“I’m sure we can arrange to have her killed,” she replies, still smiling.  
  
He laughs. “I don’t think that’d help my case that I am saner than Judith,” he mutters. “But thanks for the idea.” He slings his bag over his shoulder, and is about to walk out when Caitlin stands up and walks after him.  
  
“I need to… get a thing,” she says, still smiling at him. “From the supply closet. Supplies!”  
  
He nods as they walk down the hallway together. “So, any other advice? Apart from arranging to have Paula killed?”   
  
She looks at him. “Just be your wonderful self, Tim,” she says, then pats him on the arm, letting her hand linger. “Ooh, have you been working out?”  
  
“No,” he says, slightly uncomfortable when her look turns admiring. “Just. Regular things.”   
  
“It’s working for you,” she says, stroking his arm a little. “Very much.”   
  
“Okay.” Because what else is there to say when _Caitlin_ is _stroking his arm_. “Uhm, there’s the supply closet.”   
  
“Oh.” She looks disappointed, before she starts to smile again. “You know, I need to get something from a high shelf, and you’re tall.” She gives him another admiring look. “So very tall,” she murmurs. “So, maybe you could help me?”  
  
He knows there’s a small stepladder in that supply closet, and that Caitlin is very capable of using it. “Uhm, I’m running a bit late…”  
  
“Oh, please, Tim?” she asks, stepping closer and twirling his tie around her finger. “You’d be doing me a _big_ favour.” She moves closer again, and Tim backs away against the wall, but she follows him. “Perhaps I could do you a big favour later?” It’s almost a purr, and Tim stares down at her for a moment before awkwardly sliding away and retrieving his tie from her fingers.   
  
“Oh gosh, is that the time, really must be going, see you tomorrow, bye!” he babbles, then runs off.  
  
Women are _weird_.

*

This hypothesis is confirmed when Judith spends the first five minutes complaining about Tim’s terrible breakfast-making skills, which Tim thinks is highly unfair, as it’s not like he can read minds and know when Judith wants toast and when she wants a boiled egg and when she wants cereal with milk. He mentions this, but Paula shushes him.  
  
“But – "  
  
Paula then looks at him. “Tim, I’ll give you all the attention you want in a bit,” she says.  
  
Tim is already scared when Paula then moves to sit next to him on the sofa while Judith keeps ranting, Philip nodding along with her. Paula, as Tim expected, slowly slides closer until she almost ends up on his lap.  
  
“Tim, we shouldn’t,” she whispers. “Not in front of your ex-wife.”  
  
“That’s all right,” Tim replies, smiling at Judith. He tries to shuffle away, but Paula’s hand is on his thigh and slowly creeping higher. “Quite all right!”  
  
Paula presses herself even closer against him. “Oh, Tim, you’re right, we should celebrate our love!” She grabs his head between her hands, and kisses him.  
  
Tim manages to stop himself from yelping, and tries to shove her off, but her grip is too strong. She finally lets go, though, and he looks up to realise Judith is the one to have dragged her off him. She’s still got Paula by the back of her shirt, glaring at her. “Thanks,” Tim mutters. Hopefully now he and Judith can agree to get another social worker on their case.  
  
“You can’t come between us,” Paula tells Judith. “You had your chance!”  
  
Philip has got up to stand next to Tim, looking at him with some worry. "You all right there, Timmy?”  
  
“Yes,” Tim says, feeling relieved. He gets up as well. “I think we can all agree Paula should pass our case to a colleague."  
  
“Yes,” Judith agrees, still glaring at Paula as she shoves her over to her chair. Judith then moves to stand in front of Tim, more protective than he’s used from her. Philip is still standing next to him, and Tim assumes it’s Philip’s hand that’s rubbing a smoothing circle on his back. “Paula, there’s something very important you need to know about Tim.”  
  
“I’m not interested in you, Paula!” Tim exclaims, pushing Philip’s hand away, and it returns a second later. Maybe he should let Philip. It is actually quite soothing. “Never have, never will.”  
  
Judith smiles at him, for the first time in ages. “Exactly. Paula, the thing is, Tim is ours.”  
  
“Exactly,” Tim agrees, then yelps as Philip’s hand suddenly drops to squeeze his arse. “What?”  
  
Judith wraps her arms around him. “Tim,” she purrs. “It’s been leading up to this all along, it’s obvious.”  
  
“Is it?” Tim asks, as Philip plasters himself to Tim’s other side, now rubbing his arse gently. “Philip!”  
  
“I think you need to open yourself up to the possibilities, Timmy,” Philip tells him.  
  
Tim pushes Philip away, and then shoves at Judith until she's standing a foot away from him and pouting. “I really shouldn’t,” he says, then grabs his jacket to flee once again.  
  
*  
  
“Chris,” he says, having rung the only person he can. “Everyone’s gone crazy.”  
  
“Oh, you finally noticed, have you?” comes the laconic reply.  
  
Tim rolls his eyes. “Can you come over tonight? I need to talk to you.”  
  
“Sure mate. At eight?”  
  
Tim knows that means Chris will show up at any point between seven and nine. “Yes. See you later.”  
  
“Whatever,” Chris says, and hangs up.

*

Marcus is, thank God, also the same when Tim offers him dinner and Marcus looks at him like he’s made a dish out of sewage and rotten meat than out of perfectly fresh vegetables and organic beef. “I’ll be in my room doing homework,” Marcus declares after dinner, and immediately walks off again.   
  
Tim nods to himself. Perfectly normal. He glances at his phone, there’s missed calls from Caitlin, Philip, Judith and Paula. He’s ignoring them because he’s seen the text messages, and quite frankly, they’re rather worrying. He’s not sure why Caitlin keeps texting him about what a naughty girl she is and how she needs punishment, or why Philip texts him to say he wants to climb him like Mount Kilimanjaro. He hasn’t even read Paula’s texts except for the first one, the one he deleted immediately and the one he still can’t stop shuddering over.   
  
There’s an impatient knock on the door, and Tim glances at the clock. Only a few minutes past seven. He goes to open the door, and Chris is still wearing his work uniform, his badge proudly proclaiming he’s Allah. “Chris,” Tim mutters, looking vaguely disapproving.  
  
Chris looks down at his badge, shrugs, then looks up at Tim, raising an eyebrow at him still wearing his tie. “Tim,” he says.   
  
“I know, I know,” he mutters, and pulls at his tie to loosen it and pull off. He then opens the top few buttons of his shirt, and sighs with relief. Much better. “Come in.”   
  
Chris stares at him for a moment, then blinks, nods, and enters the hallway. “Right,” he says. “Right, so, why did you finally realise the world is mad?”   
  
“It’s a long story,” Tim says, leading them into the living room and watching as Chris settles on the sofa. “Coffee?”   
  
“Sure,” Chris replies, and flicks through the newspaper as Tim walks into the kitchen. He repeats the question when Tim returns to bring him his coffee.  
  
Tim hesitates before telling him about the Examiner, and Chris sniggers at that. “I don’t _have_ bad breath,” he says, and leans closer to Chris to breathe pointedly in his face. “I don’t!” He leans back to frown at Chris, who looks more than a little dazed. “I don’t, right?” he asks again.  
  
“Hmm,” Chris says eventually, looking at his coffee again. “What – what else?” he asks.  
  
Tim then explains about Caitlin, and Chris’ eyes narrow. His jaw clenches when Tim explains about Paula, and he puts down the coffee mug angrily, spilling on the table when Tim mentions Judith and Philip’s suggestion. “So, what do you think?”  
  
Chris looks at him, his eyes furious. “I think they’re all complete _bastards_.”   
  
“That’s a bit harsh,” Tim replies, slightly surprised by Chris’ reaction, and the way he’s clenching his fists. “Caitlin’s perfectly nice, just a bit… odd.” It really doesn’t seem like her to do what she did today.  
  
Chris blinks, and sags a little, his shoulders hunch and he grabs the coffee again, wrapping his hands around it. “Right,” he mutters quietly. “She’s nice. Of course she is.”   
  
“You two should meet,” he says. Caitlin and Chris probably would get along, in as far Chris gets along with anyone. Better than Judith and Chris, at any rate.   
  
Chris just mutters something as he drinks from his coffee.   
  
Marcus then enters the living room. “He has his own home, right?” he asks, looking at Chris.  
  
“Yes, Marcus, but Chris is my friend,” Tim tells him, then gets up to get Marcus his usual herbal tea and organic biscuit. “Friends visit friends occasionally.”  
  
“Occasionally, not every night,” Marcus says, then sits on a chair to glare at Chris, who glares back.   
  
They’re still glaring when Tim puts the biscuit and tea in front of Marcus, then Tim sits back down next to Chris. “So, what do you think?” he asks. “Of their behaviour?”  
  
“Whose behaviour?” Marcus demands, and Tim sighs. He gives his son an abridged account, censoring Judith’s and Philip’s behaviour. Marcus merely raises an eyebrow. “Have you questioned your own sanity?” he asks. “Because I have.”

“Tim is perfectly sane,” Chris snaps at him, sitting back on the sofa and having shifted a little closer to Tim.  
  
Marcus takes this calmly. “The only common factor is you, Tim. I can only assume it’s your fault. Things usually are.”   
  
“You little – “ Chris starts to move forward, and Tim puts a hand on Chris’ shoulder to pull him back on the sofa.  
  
“Chris,” Tim says, warning in his voice. “No.” He keeps his arm on Chris’ shoulder to calm him down. Chris makes an odd little noise, then pushes Tim’s hand off.   
  
“Fine,” he mutters, but he still glares at Marcus. He's also shifted to sit closer to Tim.   
  
Tim, looking for a neutral subject, then asks Marcus how school was, which Marcus explains in great and slightly boring detail, and Tim isn’t surprised when Chris starts to shift impatiently on the sofa, crossing his legs, grabbing one of the decorative cushions, sitting back, then leaning forward again. It's mostly annoying because Chris is sitting _so close_ , constantly nudging him with his elbow or his legs.   
  
“Sit still, will you?” Tim mutters, putting a hand on Chris’ shoulder again. He feels Chris shudder under his hand, making that odd noise again, then shrug him off. He leans forward, and stays that way for a while, his fingers digging into the sofa cushion he's pulled into his lap.  
  
Marcus just nods at them. “Interesting,” he declares. “Tim, I’m going to bed.” He stands up to bring his cup to the kitchen, and Tim sighs with some relief.  
  
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks, turning to Chris and nudging him with his shoulder to get his attention. “You want a beer?”   
  
Chris turns to look at him, his dark eyes staring at Tim and he opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again and bites his lip. “No, better if I don’t,” he says, and sighs.   
  
“All right,” Tim replies, and looks at Marcus when he leaves the kitchen to go to his bedroom. “I’ll be right there, Marcus.”  
  
Marcus just shakes his head as he leaves the living room.   
  
“So, how was your day?” Tim asks, nudging Chris again, who looks like he’s miles away.   
  
Chris closes his eyes, and sighs. “Oh, the usual, arguing with people, replacing the coffee with decaf and telling people to go to suck Bill Gates’ cock if they like PCs so much.”  
  
Tim smiles. “And how many complaints did you get?”   
  
“Only five,” Chris replies, smiling back at him. “I think I’m losing my touch.”   
  
They look at each other for a moment, still smiling, and Tim wonders what Chris is looking at so intently, but then Chris suddenly stands up, still clutching the sofa cushion. “I should go!”   
  
It’s not that late. “Already?”   
  
“Yes,” Chris says, nodding firmly as he looks at Tim, still sitting on the sofa, comfortably sprawled out. “I should definitely go.”  
  
Tim gets up as well. “All right, I’ll show you out.”   
  
Chris shakes his head, and steps away. “No, no, I can find my own way out,” he says, stepping back and nearly tripping over the rug as he drops the cushion.  
  
Tim reaches out to grab his arm, his other hand on Chris’ back. “Careful, you idiot,” he says.  
  
Chris takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yes, yes, careful, yes,” he says, sounding a little distracted, then shrugs off Tim’s hands. “I’ll go and do that.” He walks off swiftly, Tim following him into the hallway as Chris shrugs his jacket on.  
  
“You’re acting strangely,” he says, putting a hand on Chris’ shoulder again.   
  
“No, I’m not!” Chris insists, and shrugs his hand off again. “I’m acting absolutely normal!” He looks at Tim almost angrily. “There is nothing strange about my behaviour!”   
  
“Chris, what’s wrong?” Tim asks, more than a little worried. “Are you all right?”   
  
“I’m fine!” Chris insists, backing away towards the door. “Perfectly fine, couldn’t be better.”   
  
Tim continues to frowns at him as Chris struggles to open the door and flashes a grin at Tim as he closes the door. He shakes his head, then goes to check on Marcus.

“You need anything?” he asks, when he sees Marcus is in the middle of reading his latest massive tome.   
  
“No, I’m fine,” Marcus replies. “Tim, you know I do not believe in conspiracy theories, right?”   
  
“Right,” Tim replies.   
  
“And that I am very much in favour of thinking rationally?”  
  
“A little too rationally,” Tim mutters, leaning against the doorframe. “What about it?”  
  
Marcus just shakes his head. “Tim, I think the government is testing out a pheromone spray on you. I don’t know why they’d test it on someone who just puts in data, but I expect they have their reasons.” He’s silent for a moment. “Perhaps you’re the most unattractive man there. It’s certainly possible.”  
  
Tim rolls his eyes. “Marcus, there’s no such thing as a pheromone spray.”  
  
“Oh, so people just randomly throw yourself at you, then?” Marcus points out.   
  
“Chris wasn’t,” Tim points out.   
  
Marcus stares at him. “No, of course Chris wouldn’t. Isn’t it obvious?”  
  
“I am not discussing pheromone sprays with you,” Tim tells him, then turns off the light. “Don’t stay up too late.”  
  
“I won’t,” Marcus mutters, and turns on his bedside lamp.   
  
*  
  
His boss summons him first thing in the morning. “So, Tim, how was your day yesterday?” He grins, then sprays Tim in the face again.  
  
Tim splutters again. “Weird,” he says. “My son thinks you’re doing an experiment with pheromones on me.”  
  
The man stares at him. “Can we hire him?”  
  
“He’s eight!”  
  
“Can we hire him?” he asks again, and Tim shakes his head.  
  
“You did use me for a pheromone experiment? Is that why Caitlin, and my social worker, and my ex-wife and her new boyfriend have been trying to - to – is it?” he asks, gesturing.  
  
“Pretty much,” the Examiner says. “But your son treated you the same?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Tim replies. “Why?”  
  
He makes a note of this. “Dr. Jackson will be pleased,” he mutters. “We’ve been struggling to make a spray that doesn’t work on children or people related to the wearer. Looks like we finally managed it.”  
  
“So, what did you just spray on me?” Tim asks.  
  
“Anti-spray,” he explains. “It’d be a bit awkward to work if Caitlin continues to seduce you, I imagine.”  
  
Yes, yes it would.  
  
*  
  
Caitlin immediately leans over to him. “My phone was hacked,” she says, staring intently at him. “All the texts I sent you were not mine.” She looks a little flustered. “Very much not mine.”  
  
He nods, and smiles. “Right,” he says. “Of course not.”  
  
“Just wanted to clear that up,” she says, then turns to go back to her work.   
  
*

Judith rings up to explain that yesterday was Philip’s idea to bond with him, with Philip shouting in the background that it wasn’t. Tim hangs up in the middle of their argument.

*

He visits Chris at work at the end of the day, and he’s informed Chris is in the stockroom. Tim nods, Chris is probably putting the wrong price tags on things again, that’s what he usually does.   
  
“Hey, Chris,” Tim says, as he steps in the stockroom.  
  
Chris starts, and turns to look at him. “What are you doing here?” he demands.   
  
“I found out why everyone was acting strangely!” he exclaims. “Pheromone spray! Seriously, they sprayed it on me to see if it doesn’t work on kids!”   
  
Chris stares at him. “Pheromone spray?”  
  
“Yes, can you believe – mmmphf.” Tim is shoved against the door by Chris, who then kisses him firmly, his hands curling in Tim’s shirt. “Mmphf!”   
  
Chris pulls back a little to nuzzle at Tim’s neck. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s the pheromones, not me.”   
  
“Chris,” Tim says, leaning back a little as Chris presses kisses down his neck. “Chris!”  
  
“I told you.” Chris pulls back, his fists still in Tim’s shirt. “I can’t help it.” He kisses Tim firmly again, his tongue slowly licking Tim’s lips, and it’s kind of – oddly – nice.  
  
“Chris,” Tim mutters, and Chris takes the chance to slide his tongue in and it’s – it’s _definitely_ nice. They stand like that for a few moments, Chris pressing himself against Tim and kissing him like his life depends on it. When Chris calms a little, Tim carefully pushes him back. “My boss sprayed me with an anti-spray this morning.”  
  
Chris stares at him, panting, his lips swollen and slick, and his eyes are wide. “What?”  
  
“Anti-pheromone spray,” Tim explains, still a bit taken aback by Chris _kissing_ him. “This morning. So.”  
  
“So you’re not…” Chris mutters, and he frowns. He's not backing away, though.  
  
“Not irresistible.” Although he clearly is to Chris. Which is… interesting. And if the kissing is anything to go by, nice.   
  
“Delayed reaction!” he exclaims, and nods firmly. “It – it just took a longer time for the pheromones to work on me!”   
  
Tim shakes his head. “Be honest, Chris.” He gives Chris his best stern look, and Chris sighs.  
  
“I may have _slightly_ wanted to rip the clothes from your body so we can have filthy sex for a while now,” Chris explains, and smiles.   
  
Tim stares at him. Chris keeps smiling back. Tim stares at him some more. “What?”   
  
“Me, you, filthy sex,” Chris says, as if that is supposed to clear anything up. “You want to?”  
  
“Uhm,” says Tim, “but yesterday, with the spray...”  
  
Chris rolls his eyes, and sighs. “I already _wanted_ to shag you before you put on that spray. Of course it's not suddenly going to make me want to jump you!” Chris bites his lip. “Well, maybe a bit more than normal.”   
  
Tim is staring at his lip. It's a nice lip. “Oh?”   
  
“So, obviously, if I'm already used to not jumping you, that spray isn't going to make me do it,” Chris explains, as if this is all perfectly simple and obvious and Tim is just being dense. Then he smiles. “So, what're we going to do about it?”   
  
Tim blinks. “Er,” he says.   
  
“Because either you want to have sex with me, or you don't,” Chris says. “But I'm just saying that you weren't exactly fighting me off just then.”  
  
“What about a date?” he blurts out, then frowns to himself as Chris stares at him like he's grown another head. “No?”  
  
Chris shakes his head. “No, Tim. No _dating_. Ugh. If I want to watch a film with you, we do it at your place. Or mine. Comfortably on a sofa without other idiots around and no overpriced snacks.”   
  
“We can do that,” Tim suggests weakly, because Chris is still standing far too close, and this is not what he expected when he walked into the stockroom, but he realises that he hardly _minds_.   
  
Chris is slowly rubbing his hands over Tim's shirt. “Hmm,” he says. “But we'll have filthy sex after, right?”   
  
“Well...”  
  
Chris shifts closer to kiss him again, his tongue sliding in without problem, his entire body pressing against Tim's, and when his fingers slide up to stroke Tim's jaw, Tim may whimper just a little. He feels Chris grin against him, and pull back. “Filthy sex after?” he asks.  
  
Tim slowly nods. “Yes.”

*

As it turns out, Chris' idea of filthy is _literally_ filthy sex, as Chris leaves for his kitchen halfway through Die Hard – Tim figured it was a decent enough choice, because it gives Chris a chance to do his 'and if I had been the hostage-taker, I would've done it like _this_ ' rant – and comes back with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, jam, and honey.  
  
Tim sits back as Chris drops it all on the sofa next to him. “What?”  
  
“I hope you've got a good drycleaner,” Chris remarks, then grins at him. “Take your shirt off.”  
  
It says something about them that Tim has pulled his shirt halfway up before he thinks to ask why. “Why?”  
  
“Filthy sex,” Chris says, and starts shaking the can of whipped cream. “You _promised_.”  
  
“I didn't mean literally!” Tim yelps, as Chris sprays some cream in his own mouth and swallows.   
  
“Well, I did.” Chris shifts over to pull at Tim's shirt, managing to spray some whipped cream on his stomach before Tim can protest. Tim yelps when Chris licks it off thoroughly. “It's fun.”   
  
“It's ridiculous and it'll ruin the sofa,” Tim mutters.  
  
Chris just rolls his eyes and sits up again. “If you do it properly, yes.” He grins. “Which is the fun bit.”   
  
*  
  
Somehow, Tim has managed to convince Chris that it'll be even more fun with towels covering the sofa, which explains why he's now lying back on his sofa, on the towels, while Chris is straddling him with a can of whipped cream in one hand, and the chocolate sauce in the other. He's got a calculating look in his eyes, and ends up spraying a pattern on Tim's chest that Tim can't entirely see, although he squints and tries his best.   
  
Chris just smirks, drizzles some chocolate sauce over him, then leans down to lick it all off him.   
  
Tim squirms, as it tickles in some places while it feels _amazing_ in others, and Chris is very _very_ thorough. “Chris,” he asks, and it comes out in a little gasp when Chris licks the side of his stomach. “What, er, what did you draw on me?”   
  
Chris grins up at him. “Rude stickfigures,” he says, then licks that same place on Tim's stomach again, the one that makes him whimper. “They were fucking.”   
  
“Right,” Tim says, then yelps when Chris bites down. “Hey!”   
  
Chris licks the slightly sore spot. “Get used to that,” he murmurs, and continues to lightly scrape his teeth over Tim's stomach.   
  
Tim squirms again, because it is rather nice. “All right,” he says.   
  
“Good,” Chris mutters, and finishes licking up the remains of the stick figures, until he reaches Tim's neck.  
  
Tim pulls him up for a sticky chocolate-flavoured kiss which goes on for some time, burying his fingers in Chris hair, which has Chris moan happily.   
  
“You know,” Chris says, as he pulls back and shows Tim the bottle of chocolate sauce. “I wonder what it's like to drizzle this all over your cock and suck it off you.”   
  
Tim stares at him, and Chris calmly looks back, and then Tim scrambles to get his pants off, because while most of Chris' ideas are mad and ridiculous, he does occasionally have one that is completely and utterly genius.


End file.
